


Doesn't Mean You Love Me

by BloodStainsBlue



Category: DCU, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, But is the age of consent, Cheating, Dick is drunk and between 18-19, Dubious Consent (sex while one person is drunk), Emetophobia, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, So not old enough to drink, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Love, Vomiting (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 08:06:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10213202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodStainsBlue/pseuds/BloodStainsBlue
Summary: He rolls over, pushes himself up, hovers over the fluffy pink shower rug. He didn’t realize it was even there. There are imprints in the rug where Wally’s feet had been just moments ago. He crawls his hands over, rests them in the indents, and dips his head down like he’s praying.





	

           “Dude, the toilet is three steps away from you.”

            Dick would give Wally a snappy comeback, maybe flip him off or roll his eyes, but he’s too busy emptying his stomach into the redhead’s bathtub. That’s probably comeback enough, if he thinks about it.

            Once he’s confident that all food and drink have been flushed out of his body he pulls himself up, falls back onto his ass on the tiled floor and looks up at Wally pathetically, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, his eyes bloodshot due to a cocktail made of exhaustion and hours of crying.

            Wally stands over him with eyebrows furrowed in annoyance and a cup of fresh-made coffee in one of his hands. He reaches over to turn the bathtub on so the sick inside of it can fall into the drain.

            “You gotta… Clorox it,” Dick pants, and his voice is raspy and broken thanks to the bile that scratched at it on its way up.

            “Later. Gotta take care of you before I take care of the tub.” Wally’s voice is deep, deeper than usual—he’s annoyed, Dick knows, and he understands why.

            “Make Artemis do it.”  
            “Artemis went to stay with Zatanna for the night. She wasn’t gonna stick around to see you acting like this!” Wally snaps, turning away from the tub to glare at the crumpled up form of his best friend. “How did you even get here, anyway?”

            “Dunno,” Dick slurs, and it’s the truth. He thinks he remembers Roy, maybe it was his idea, maybe he took him here.

            His body doesn’t know how to process the deluge of alcohol flooding his system. He’d never been allowed to drink when he was training under Bruce, not even a flute of champagne at a party, and he never did it much anyway, because he was always so _busy_ , but…

            He’s also under the legal drinking age, he remembers somewhere in the back of his mind, but he pushes that aside. Roy’s not… yeah, it was definitely Roy’s fault.

            He doesn’t even remember why he’d decided to drink so much tonight. It must have been something, he knows, he wouldn’t just _do_ this, but… he can’t remember what had prompted this. Why he’d crawled into Roy’s window in his civvies and said, “I need a fucking drink right now, man… yeah, I know I don’t drink, but you do, so—!”

            He remembers that. But it cuts off after that.

            He looks up at Wally lazily, a hazy smile on his lips, while Wally glares down at him, snowflake coffee mug at his lips and his legs spread, stance prepared like he’s about to face down Captain Cold or—

            But he doesn’t fight supervillains anymore. He’s retired now. With Artemis. So this is just the stance he greets Dick with, now. “Gimme a sip,” Dick groans, tries to crawl towards him but loses his balance, stumbles and falls against Wally’s leg.

            “Dude, no!” Wally hisses, his eyes widening as his body shakes, and he barely manages to avoid spilling the steaming beverage on top of Dick’s head.

            “Please? I’m thirsty!” Dick whines, looks at Wally with pathetically large eyes, pushing out his plump bottom lip and gripping the denim that hugs Wally’s legs tightly.

            “I’ll get you some water or something, man—”

            “But I like your coffee!” Dick interrupts.

            Wally rolls his eyes and takes another large sip from the cup in his hand.

            “If you brush your teeth, you can have _one_ sip of my coffee,” Wally concedes, taking a step back, causing Dick to fall onto his back, the room momentarily spinning as he tries to reorient himself to his new position.

            His eyes slowly travel from a pattern of raised bumps on the ceiling (it’s like stargazing— _look, that one looks like a rabbit!_ ) to the bathroom sink, the empty Big Gulp decorated with fictional superheroes and in which sits two toothbrushes: green and red. “There’s no toothbrush for me,” drones, his eyes returning to Wally.

            He looks so tall from here—Dick can’t remember if he’s taller or if Wally is— “You can use the toothbrush I got last time I went to the dentist. Top drawer.”

            He turns around and leaves, and Dick turns his head to watch. He’s wearing slippers. They’re blue and fluffy. Dick wonders when he got them, where. He didn’t have them the last time either of them stayed over at the other’s place…when was that? A year ago? Two? Dick thinks its two.

            He rolls over, pushes himself up, hovers over the fluffy pink shower rug. He didn’t realize it was even there. There are imprints in the rug where Wally’s feet had been just moments ago. He crawls his hands over, rests them in the indents, and dips his head down like he’s praying.

            He pushes himself up slowly, sits on his haunches, and looks at the closed bathroom door. A bathrobe hangs from a hook, baby blue. It looks too big to be Artemis’. He shuffles over and takes the bathrobe in his hand, runs his thumb over the softness of it. He brings it up and sniffs gently. It smells like Artemis. He drops it and stands up.

            He stands up and it’s _hard—_ keeps his hand on the wall to steady himself, and it shouldn’t be this hard, he’s an _acrobat_ , a superhero, he should be able to _stand up straight_ —

            He hobbles over to the kitchen sink and looks into the mirror that hangs above it. He barely recognizes himself. He almost turns his head to look behind him, see if maybe it’s someone else that he sees, but he knows there’s no point. His skin is pale, an undercurrent of sickly green to it; his eyes are bloodshot and sunken in, hazy and gone; he sees something light purple peeking out from under his collar, and he reaches up with a shaky hand, pulls it down to reveal teeth marks, a bruise sucked into the skin of his neck—he doesn’t remember getting it but he’s sure Roy was the one who gave it to him. He wonders if Wally noticed it, what he thought of it—

            _Wally doesn’t care_ , he reminds himself, sitting on the toilet and opening the top drawer under the sink.

            It’s messy, unorganized, and Dick smiles as he imagines Wally tossing things into the drawer without even looking or thinking of it, Wally frustratingly digging through it early in the morning as he looks for a new razor or a spare bottle of shampoo that was obviously stolen from a seedy hotel, in Gotham, it looks like—

            He digs through it, searching for the spare toothbrush of legend, but his hand pauses when it hits a pill box. He knows what it is, he’s not so drunk that he can’t pick out the obvious, but he still feels sick when he pulls it out and looks at it. It’s pink, a flower sits under the brand name that he doesn’t recognize, but the words “Birth Control” scream at him through his drunken haze.

            He opens the skinny box, pulls out one of the tin holders, looks at five days that have already been popped out and taken. He wants to throw it in the trash, but instead he slides it back in and drops the box back into the drawer, slides it shut, doesn’t want a sip of coffee anymore, doesn’t care that his mouth tastes like vomit and that tomorrow morning it’ll be _much, much worse_ if he doesn’t brush now but he doesn’t care—

            He remembers why he crawled into Roy’s apartment window now, remembers why he’d demanded the strongest liquor Roy had on the premises, why he’d made out with and almost let Roy fuck him, why he’d agreed to let Roy take him to Wally’s apartment and been dumped onto his best friend’s front door—

            He hauls himself off of the toilet and slowly makes his way out of the bathroom, lets the wall guide him to the living room where Wally is.

            The redhead is sitting with his back against one of the armrests, his legs stretched out across the red cushions, smartphone in hand and empty coffee mug sitting behind him on a small table.

            “You didn’t save me any coffee,” Dick says. He changed his mind, but he feels like he has to point it out.

            Wally glances up at Dick with a smile, probably talking to Artemis, definitely more relaxed now.

            Dick remembers when he could relax Wally just by talking to him, before he caused him so much stress he had to run away and text someone else.

            “I kind of thought you’d passed out in the bathroom. I was gonna check on you in a few minutes,” Wally shrugged, twisting to set the phone down next to the empty coffee mug.

            “I could have been dead by that point,” Dick deadpans, stumbling to the couch and flopping down onto his legs, knocking the air out of Wally’s lungs when his head slams against his stomach, his torso traveling down the length of his legs and his own legs hanging over the edge of the furniture.

            “You’re not, though,” Wally points out, looking momentarily surprised before his hand comes down, sliding into Dick’s black hair, curling into it and lightly scratching at the back of his head like a kitten has just settled into his lap. It reminds Dick of being fourteen again, of watching bad movies while cuddled into Wally’s side, of falling asleep with his head in his lap and assuming that they would be doing this forever.

            “Yeah, lucky for you,” Dick whispers, closing his eyes and nuzzling into Wally’s stomach. There’s still muscle there, even though Wally’s hung up the spandex and cowl. Dick wonders if he still works out, or if it’s just his overly-fast metabolism that keeps his shape. “Congratulations,” Dick adds, his eyes trained on the empty soda can that sits on the rickety wooden table across from him, doesn’t want to look at Wally and see his dumb, handsome, proud smile because s _he said yes_.

            “Thanks,” Wally hums, and his fingers briefly pause their motions in his hair. “How did you find out? I was planning on telling you in person—you being my best friend and all.”

            _You could have told me before you did it_ , Dick thinks, but instead says, “Artemis told M’gann and M’gann told the whole team.”

            Dick feels Wally shift, get more comfortable, and says, “Sorry you had to find out that way. Is that why you got drunk? Because you didn’t hear it from me?”

            “Partially,” Dick answers, because it’s _true._ Maybe Dick couldn’t have this, he’d accepted that (he thought he had) but he thought that they were still _friends,_ that Wally would tell him _first_ when something so big was happening in his life like an _engagement_.

            “Partially?” Wally asks, and his fingers go back to petting Dick’s head. “You’ll find someone, Dick. You’re a catch, you know?”

            “I know,” Dick responds, and he thinks it sounds cocky but he _does_ know—he’s had enough girlfriends to know people like him, find him attractive, has a mark on his neck that provides even further proof.

            Not Wally, though.

            “Hey, don’t get too full of yourself now,” Wally chuckles, curls his fingers and lightly tugs at Dick’s hair.

            Dick purrs. “Rather be full of someone else.” He’s sure in the morning he’ll be humiliated that he even thought those words, much less said them, is sure Wally will give him Hell for them, too.

            But instead Wally just shakes his head and says, “Ew. Don’t even go there.”

            “Don’t go where?” Dick asks, and he shakes his head to dislodge Wally’s fingers before rolling over so he’s on his stomach, looking up at Wally with narrowed eyes and a cocky smirk.

            Wally’s searching Dick’s face, and he tries to squirm away, seems to sense Dick’s growing intentions.

            He reaches up with one hand, pulls his shirt down like he’d done in the mirror earlier, makes sure Wally sees the mark on his neck. “Roy was going to fuck me earlier. Then he dumped me on your doorstep.”

            Wally squirms and shakes his head. “That’snicemaybeweshouldsleepnow,” Wally says, too fast, that way that he can only do because he’s a speedster, in a way that Dick hasn’t heard from the redhead in years, not since he was an awkward teenager whose limbs were too long for his body and he hadn’t yet ever touched a woman.

            “I’m sure you and Artemis were going to fuck, too. Before I interrupted you. But I’m right here, Wally. Just for this once,” Dick whispers, sitting up and crawling up Wally’s frame, straddling his waist and sliding his hands around Wally’s neck.

            Wally’s eyes fall away from Dick and he sighs deeply, looks conflicted, and conflicted is good, conflicted isn’t ‘no’. “I’m not gay, dude,” Wally says, his hands coming up and resting on Dick’s hips, his fingers squeeze, don’t pull closer or push away.

            “I didn’t say you were. I’m not either,” Dick responds, and he presses his hips down onto Wally’s, bites his lip and hisses when he feels an erection pressing against his own. “Just because you fuck me doesn’t mean you don’t love Artemis.” _Just because you fuck me doesn’t mean you love me._

            Wally groans and bites his lip, throws his head back and closes his eyes, refuses to look at Dick. “But… you’re drunk. You don’t—”

            “Don’t you even think about finishing that sentence,” Dick growls, and now _his_ hands are digging into _Wally’s_ hair.

            “Just this once. Never again. We don’t even have to speak of this after tonight,” Dick promises, begs, his head falls forward and rests on Wally’s shoulder.

            “Neveragain,” Wally whispers under his breath, and his hands are moving so quickly, undoing both his and Dick’s belt in seconds.

            Dick shoves his pants off and down unceremoniously, tosses off his shirt in the same fashion, doesn’t look at where they go. He sits on Wally’s lap, he’s naked, and Wally’s just pulled his cock out of his jeans, and Dick groans, wants to wrap his lips around the already leaking head of his cock but doesn’t have time, because already Wally is reaching between his legs and sliding two fingers into his hole, still slick, open and pliant from Roy’s thorough preparation from earlier in the night.

            Dick throws his head back as he rides Wally’s two, three, four fingers, his bottom lip gripped by his teeth as he moans, and this is so much better than he’d ever imagined, better than pretending his own fingers are Wally’s because his own are too small, better than pretending Roy’s are Wally’s because his are too big, and Wally’s are _just right,_ fill him up and stretch him with only the smallest burn of _too much._

            “Turn around,” Wally orders beneath his breath, and Dick knows why, knows Wally doesn’t want to look at his face, wants to pretend _anything but this is happening_ —

            But Dick still complies, pulling off of Wally’s fingers and turning around, leaning forward and reaching back, spreading his cheeks. His hole is cold, empty, _gaping,_ and Wally curses under his breath as he traces two fingers around the abused rim gently. “Shit, dude, what are you taking up here?” Wally asks, and Dick smirks because he can hear the blush in Wally’s cheeks, can feel the shakiness of his voice in how he cautiously dips the tips of his index and middle fingers into his body.

            “Got a problem?” Dick asks, and he knows the answer is no as he spits in his palm and reaches back, stroking Wally cock and laughing at his soft hiss, the twitch of his cock, shorter than Roy’s but thicker, and Dick wants it so badly, his hole swallows Wally’s fingers, begging for more.

            “Not at all, dude,” Wally whispers, pulling his fingers out and bringing his other hand, using both hands to spread Dick out. “Need a condom,” he mutters, and Dick shakes his head.

            “I’m clean. Don’t need one. Don’t want one.”  
            “Dude—”

            “Don’t you trust me?”

            “Of course—”

            “The fucking… right now. Don’t make me miss Roy,” Dick teases, pulls his hand away from Wally’s cock and braces himself against his clothed legs.

            Wally lines himself up and pulls Dick down onto his cock, and the younger male moans loudly, throws his head forward onto the couch as Wally’s cock sits snugly inside of him.

            He bites his lip and thinks of how long he’s wanted this, how perfect he feels with _Wally_ inside of him, how for the rest of his life any other man will be too big, too small, too thick, too thin, if it’s not _just like this_ —

            He begins to rock his hips up and down, lifting himself so the head of Wally’s cock is all that’s left inside of him before he sinks back down. He develops a rhythm of up-and-down, works his thighs as Wally sits still behind him. He wonders what Wally is doing, if he’s watching him in awe or closing his eyes and trying to imagine that his slick asshole is Artemis’ pussy—

            His question is answered when he feels Wally’s hands on his cheeks, spreading him open, and Wally begins guiding Dick’s hips. Dick lets him, can sense Wally’s eyes on him, watching the way his cock disappears into his hole. Two fingers come over and slide in next to his cock, and Dick gasps, bites his lip and whimpers softly, grips Wally’s legs like a lifeline.

            “Too much?” Wally asks, slides his fingers out.

            “No. No, I’m fine,” Dick promises, but it’s too late, because Wally pats his thigh and says, “Sit up lean against me.”

            Dick does as he’s told, straightens up and falls back against Wally’s chest. There’s a cotton t-shirt pressed against his bare back, from this position he can better feel the denim that Wally’s wearing and where it’s pressed against his bare skin.

            Wally braces his feet against the couch they’re sitting on and begins to fuck up against Dick’s hole, and Dick curses loudly, throws his head back so it rests on Wally’s shoulder, does his best to bend himself in half, would for Wally if his body wasn’t in the way.

            Wally’s hands travel up Dick’s stomach to his chest, and even though Dick doesn’t have breasts like Artemis does, Wally still pulls at his nipples, causes Dick to cry out and whimper in pleasure, grip his own thighs so hard he’s sure he’ll leave bruises against his own skin.

            It’s over too soon, and Dick supposes it would be, expected this, but he still whines in disappointment when he feels Wally’s cum shoot inside of him, and that makes it all worth it. He doesn’t know if Wally actually meant to pull out and forgot, but Dick doesn’t care—he plants himself firmly on Wally’s lap, takes him in as deep as he can and squeezes around Wally’s cock, milks it with a moan.

            He slides off of Wally and falls against the couch, whimpers when Wally stands up and tucks himself in. He avoids Dick’s eyes, and Dick scoffs, because he’d seemed pretty into it a few minutes ago, but that’s always how it does, Dick knows because this isn’t the first time he’s been in his position, has been in Wally’s before, too—

            “You can sleep on the couch, and… I’ll be upstairs. You should get dressed and clean up… I don’t know when she’ll be back,” Wally mutters, and shoots his friend one more look before he speeds out of the room.

            Maybe they’ll talk about this in the morning. Maybe they won’t. Dick silently hopes they don’t, because there’s nothing to say. He wishes that his toothbrush was in a cup in Wally’s bathroom, that his scent hung onto Wally’s bathrobe, that he knew where Wally had gotten those dopey slippers, but that was Artemis’ job, and Artemis was his friend, as much as he resented her sometimes. He didn’t want to hurt her, and he was certain in the morning he would feel as ashamed as Wally did now.

            He hopes Roy will be willing to share a drink with him tomorrow night, too. And tomorrow, he’ll make an effort to stay with him instead.

**Author's Note:**

> Oops, I wrote angst. Sorry. I wrote this because it was rainy and I was feeling a little sad, and I was thinking about wanting, namely how much it hurts and sucks. These two are such dorks and so good for fluff and comedy but it's also so easy to write angst for them. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed it, and thanks for reading! If you have comments, let me hear 'em! Criticisms, also let me hear 'em! Kudos, comment, say hi, whatever you'd like!
> 
> Come say hi to me on tumblr @bloodstainsblue.tumblr.com I promise, I'm friendly! 
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and thanks to everyone who puts up with me! It's much appreciated! <3


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